


Wild Child

by A_Hawk



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Use, Heavy Angst, M/M, Master & Servant, MetaMoro, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Power Play, bottom!Fabrizio, grey morality, kind of, no cinnamon roll anyone, top!Ermal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22433926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Hawk/pseuds/A_Hawk
Summary: A complex district and the complex lives of its complex inhabitants, one who leaves but whose life brings him back into its pit, one who stays, letting its tentacles hold him tighter and tighter. And their complex relationship, where the border between light and darkness, law and crime, good and bad, isn't as clear as it should be, at least in other districts. In other words, Cop!Ermal and Drug Dealer! Fabrizio AU.
Relationships: Ermal Meta/Fabrizio Moro
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have many fics to continue but this one kept nagging me so here I am with a new thing. The chapters will be shorter, the fic itself will be. It's the better-written version of a [bulletpoint thing](https://a---fire---inside.tumblr.com/post/180693512408/bellisima-stronza-au-fabrizio-is-a-drug-dealer) I wrote, inspired by a [cool aesthetic](https://bellisima-stronza.tumblr.com/post/179042157138/au-fabrizio-is-a-drug-dealer-and-ermal-is-a) by bellissima-stronza on tumblr. My bulletpoint version was written a lot of time ago and this version is different anyway, more fitting with how I see their dynamic and characterization. 
> 
> The square I described is actually round and it's not San Basilio, it's Piazza Re Di Roma, the alley where the pub is Via Cerveteri, don't ask me why I chose these places, they just came in my mind.  
Btw Fab wanted to open a pub with Ermal soo...in a way..this is dark but kinda...kinda. Kinda.
> 
> I'm not reading many fics for lack of time, but for what I saw in most fics my characterization and dynamics might be unpopular lol, but it's my fanfiction and it's a fanfiction, so I hope you'll carefully read the tags and avoid reading if you have a problem with what is tagged there. I also hope that you read this introduction and if you think you can't handle what's inside you avoid it, and if you're still determined to read wow! I hope you'll enjoy it👍and I hope you won't take this off ao3 where it's supposed to stay, not on Twitter or wherever the real people are. Real people whom I respect and don't mean to offend in any way with this work of fiction.
> 
> Last but not least, I dedicate this fic to my special girl, my Angel♥

> _ “Wild child full of grace  
_ _ Savior of the human race  
_ _ Your cool face  
_ _ Natural child, terrible child  
_ _ Not your mother's or your father's child  
_ _ Yet our child, screamin' wild” (The Doors, Wild Child) _

Everything seems bigger in children’s eyes. Like the playground in the courtyard of the church, with its slides and swings that for Ermal’s siblings were the setting of countless imaginary adventures which they told him in detail, enthusiastically interrupting each other, when he picked them up after school.

_ Ermal’s childhood had cracked many years before, the moment he saw his father beat his mother, and it ended soon after, when, trying to shield her, he got his first black eye and split lip; nothing in comparison to what he got used to take later. His brother remembered those times, so the elder was happy to see him playing make believe with their sister, so happy that he could almost see what their fantasy had created. _

Like the crossroad where he used to sell newspapers, even if his mother wanted him to just be a good student, even if he would have gladly spared himself to be seen by most drivers as just a nuisance to avoid with their vehicle.

_ He wanted to help his mother financially, he wanted to support their little family, as they had moved to a country where the monster who took his childhood away wouldn’t harm them anymore, but here they had even less than in Albania. _

_ And yet when that tanned boy, just a little older than him, approached him at the crossroad -no, he crossed the road watching him, then he returned, just for him, his hazelnut eyes concerned for a stranger- and told him that there was an easier way to make money, he refused, because if he got caught he would have been sent back to his country and he would have worried his mother or maybe she too would have been sent back and who knows what else would have happened. He refused strongly, angrily even, because how dare this stranger propose him something like that, because he hadn’t mastered all nuances of the language yet. The other boy looked at him with wide open eyes, surprised to meet such reaction, but not offended at all. In fact, he ruffled his curly hair as if he knew him, pretending to ignore how the other flinched at the contact, and offering him another job. A real one, almost, as resular as it could be an undeclared underage job, but at least he wouldn’t breathe smog the whole time and he wouldn’t go to jail if caught. A job where they worked together, packing, unpacking and delivering stuff in a shop, getting closer and closer, as friends, as best friends, as brothers. _

Everything looks the same yet it looks different now that Ermal is an adult: the playground is small, the slides are rusty and the crossroad is just one of the many crowded intersections in the working-class Roman district where he lived for some time.

_ He was bruised all over his face -on tanned skin bruises looked different than on pale one, Ermal couldn’t help but notice- and his knuckles were scraped. _

_ He was holding a knife; he put it away only when the younger started to apply salve on his face, like he had done other times. _

_ This time though, Ermal kissed him. On the lips. Lightly, with his eyes open, trying to understand the other’s reaction, expecting to be rejected, scolded even, yet not able to control himself any longer. _

_ No rejection, no scolding came. Fabrizio’s lips opened to welcome him, letting him do anything he wanted, both closing their eyes, completely lost in the only moment they had. _

_ “I bought you some time,” he said, breathing hitched for their kisses, “but you’re no longer safe here.” _

_ Ermal nodded then he kissed him again, and Fabrizio hugged him tightly and kissed him back. _

_ “You have to leave and never come back.” _

_ His lips were chapped and split but he didn’t care about the pain, he just wanted to savor the younger’s lips as long as he could. _

_ That was the last time he saw Fabrizio. _

_ That was Ermal’s clearest memory of that night. Everything else was a blur: packing their things while briefly explaining the situation to his family, hurrying to the station taking advantage of the district festival to blend with the crowd, his brother behind them, looking left and right in fear, not daring to look forward and back to his family and to him, as he was the reason they had to escape, as it was his fault if his mother was so worried, if his sister was crying, if Ermal was losing his friend. His more than friend, he realized too late, but it didn't matter, he kept telling himself as he walked faster, one look ahead and one around, while the fireworks kept everyone's eyes on the sky. _

_ He would never see Fabrizio again. _

* * *

For Ermal's mother it took years to become less apprehensive and to feel really safe in Milan, but she eventually succeeded. Until her son told her that he would be transferred to Rome. She didn’t care that said son was a detective who definitely knew how to protect himself, that those who had threatened them were rotting in jail, or that Silvia’s parents had already found them a nice loft in their upper class district, for her it was scary and wrong to return to that city, no matter where he would live there or how far from _ that district _he would be.

She only calmed down when Ermal reminded her how important his career was and how hard he had worked to be recognised. He didn’t find it necessary to tell her that he had been chosen precisely because having lived there in the past, he was more familiar with its characteristics and its people.

_ One in particular, but they didn’t have to know. _

_ He hardly talked about those times anyway; not with his family, even though his brother had atoned for his mistake becoming a successful graphic and a better person, not with his friends, whom he made when he was already in control of his life, and not with his longtime partner, who came from a different, shielded reality, and with whom he had shared some gritty details but afterwards he had felt uncomfortable, despite their deep bond. _

* * *

Ermal’s first case is an armed robbery where no one was killed, except for one. 

It’s clearly a settling of scores, and it’s not surprising to be briefed by the local cops that no one saw anything. 

_ It isn’t hard to understand the looks his new subordinates give him: they don’t think that this tall, slender pale man with dark curly hair, wearing a coat, a vest and a printed shirt underneath will be a good detective. _

_ Not that he cares, he’ll prove them wrong anyway. _

He takes a walk around the square, noticing how many things changed, how many shops turned into something else, how many people look at him from their benches and windows, and then look _ somewhere else _. 

_ He has always been good at understanding people’s thoughts; it was vital to know his father’s intentions when he was a child. _

* * *

Following their indirect hints he takes the first left and again, the first left, towards the backstreet where he remembers a raunchy strip club called Wild Child.

_ He went there once, to deliver cigarettes from the shop. He didn’t see much: it was still early and the girls were wearing robes. _

_ He was about to leave when he spotted Fabrizio. _

_ He was delivering something else _. 

_ It wasn’t a surprise: their first encounter, at the crossroads, happened because the elder had suggested him to sell small quantities of drugs for the local dealer, as an easier way to make money. Like he did, he didn’t need to specify it. _

_ That was an abstract concept though, very different from seeing the friend who took him off that crossroad, the precious friend who put him in the same shop where he too worked, the older brother who listened to him repeat school stuff and ranting about whatever, actually doing something that might get him arrested. _

Its neon sign is still the same, but when the detective opens its stained glass door, expecting it closed to the public being only afternoon -just like in his memory of that day- he finds a totally different place inside. Poles and little sofas have been replaced by round tables, a billiard, a table football; a couple dartboards and band posters now decorate the walls once covered by mirrors. The counter is bigger, and in the corner with the stage for the big striptease there are now a drumset and instruments stands.

_ What would he do if Fabrizio went to jail? Ermal asked himself seeing him hand the drug to the girl, unexpectedly feeling worried, unexpectedly feeling something weird when she joked about suggesting their boss to have guys work there too, as she would like to see him strip. She might even pay him for a private dance, she added. _

_ The elder replied that he’s be free for her, covering his eyes while chuckling like he did when he was embarrassed, and quickly leaving her because he had spotted him. _

_ “She was hitting on you...why didn’t you take that chance?” Ermal blurted out. _

_ Fabrizio ruffled his hair, encircling his shoulder with his arm. _

_ “Mr Curreri is always controlling his girls...besides, ” he added, his lips close, so close to the younger’s ear, “I don’t like just girls”. _

This Wild Child looks like a normal pub, where customers are drinking their beers, chatting or playing darts. Nevertheless it can’t be just that, because its central but hidden position has always been strategic for all kinds of trades and trafficking. 

The detective chooses the table closer to the counter to interrogate two guys who predictably claim to know nothing. He insists, raising his voice, threatening to arrest them, twisting their little words so that it seems that they’re accusing the pub owner.

It’s just a scene, creating ruckus among the small fish to make the bigger fish come out. 

* * *

He doesn't expect the bigger fish to be _ him _.

_ Or maybe he did. _

_ Since he entered the police he forced himself to never look for Fabrizio’s criminal record, for that chapter of his life was over and he didn't have the chance to look it up now either, everything is a mess here in Rome. _

_ Most of it all he has something else to think about. His new job, his new life, the house Silvia is decorating. Silvia. _

_ That chapter of his life is over. It was over before it even started. _

_ It is over. _

_ It has to be over, despite the mere act of seeing him grown up -and shaped by time and life and its struggles- is sending him goosebumps on his skin, and a heat in his stomach._

_ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time I updated almost quickly so wow.  
Although this fic is set in Italy, specifically in Rome, I made this setting deliberately vague and 'international' to fit the English language. So let's say it's a fictional S. Basilio but it can be anywhere else.
> 
> I think a lot about characterization and dynamics, of course I write what I would like to read, but I put a lot of thought into the 'why' characters and dynamics are like this in a particular setting. In the notes below I explain a few things about my choices. 
> 
> One more thing, as usual: this is a work of fiction that has nothing to do with reality, I don't claim to know things and I don't mean to harm anyone.

_“Got the message that I gotta be a wild one  
_ _Gonna tell my friends, gonna tell them all that I'm a wild one  
_ _Gonna break it loose, gonna keep 'em movin' wild  
_ _Gonna keep a-swingin' baby, I'm a real wild child  
_ _I'm a real wild one and I like a wild fun  
_ _In a world gone crazy, everything seems hazy, I'm a wild one” (Iggy Pop, Real Wild Child)_

When they first met, at the crossroad where he used to sell newspapers, Fabrizio was taller than him, but it didn't take long for Ermal to catch up to him. He would grow even more, he used to tell the elder.

_ Ermal seemed even taller that night: the elder was hunched, so much that it was him who bent down to reach his lips, chapped and slightly tasting of blood after having protected his brother -his idiot brother, whose stupid actions resulted in separating him from the best friend he ever had, the friend whose lips he was passionately kissing for the first and last time. _

He's not sure about the elder's height now, as the counter is slightly raised and his posture is straight, his chest wide, his head high, his face and chin tilted upwards so that he seems to look down at everyone around, not negatively but as expected of a leader.

_ Nothing like just the owner of a pub. _

_ It's weird to think about his friend as not just the member of a gang -he knows how easy it is to get in one, and how hard it is to leave. His whole life changed because of this- but as its boss, handling drug traffic, keeping order in his territory, having underlings, ordering them to intimidate rivals. _

_ Or worse. _

_ And yet he has to, as his friend is clearly the leader of anything happening here, and his job is to investigate a case in his territory, to disrupt his order. _

_ Or worse. _

Fabrizio is wearing a Metallica t-shirt and ripped jeans, and his hair is pointing in all directions as if he just woke up. As always.

He looks confident. 

_ Maybe he is. _

He doesn’t waver even when he sees him.

_ Maybe because he's the leader of a gang and the boss of that territory. _

_ Maybe because he has forgotten him, Ermal finds himself thinking, with a mix of anxiety and regret, but he pushes everything back because he too looks confident, and maybe he is. _

He looks at Ermal with a half smile, a mix of curiosity and _ something else _ -pleasure, nostalgia, regret- as he takes in his appearance.

He can tell the other just recently came from the north, probably Milan, where job opportunities are better, as his camel coat is too warm for this Roman winter, and even more for his pub, where the temperature is high so that people will buy more drinks. 

His flower printed shirt makes a weird contrast with the gun holster on his chest and the police badge that he's showing as he interrogates a guy, just a little older than a teenager, whose aggressiveness doesn't hide that he's afraid.

He shouldn't be, as Ermal is just making a scene to lure his boss out.

_ Successfully. He was always a smart boy. _

He’s pale as always.

Even now Fabrizio has never seen anyone as pale as him.

_ That paleness was the reason he approached the younger at that crossroad. Back then he imagined that the younger might have been sick, but he was wrong, that boy proved it with all the energy he had. _

_ He liked that energy. He liked that boy since the first time. _

_ He couldn't imagine how much he would have grown to like him later. _

His curls are still there, still unruly no matter how much he tries to keep them under control.

_ Fabrizio remembered his curls so well; for him they represented his spirit, as he wasn't tempted by easy ways unlike his peers. Unlike him. _

_ He kept walking his own path like his curls resisted order. _

_ Even now that he is a law enforcer his hair resists. _

_ Maybe it's the only thing about him that hasn't changed, as the person in front of him is an enemy. _

_ Maybe. _

_ He also remembers the taste of his lips. _

_ Other men and other women have left their taste on him but neither of them erased his best friend's. _

_ Not that he wanted such thing. _

_ He cherished that softness and urgency and desperation and pain and the warmth of the youngster's arms around him. _

_ Ermal's memory brought him back to a time when things were different. When he was different. When love and happiness were possible. _

_ Even though only for an hour. _

* * *

“What a surprise...” Fabrizio casually says from behind the counter. A single gesture of his hand makes everyone in the room relax, and the waitress disappear. 

_ Laconic as usual, as what is a surprise? The fact that he's back when they thought they'd never meet again, or that he's no longer on his side, despite everything the elder did for him? _

"I could tell you the same thing...Bizio."

Fabrizio widens his eyes, almost imperceptibly.

He hasn't heard this silly nickname in years.

_ It was Ermal's idea and a great source of fun for him, who didn't laugh much even after opening up to him, until he came up with this name, feeling so proud of himself that whenever he called him that way he never stayed serious. _

Fabrizio turns towards the bottles and takes his time choosing one. He's quick at putting two shots glasses on the counter instead.

Ermal refusing, as he's on duty. He wouldn't refuse a cigarette though, he adds, surprising the other because he used to say that he didn't understand the appeal of smoking.

_ He used to define it a stupid thing for rich people who could afford to literally burn their money. Besides, why did people hate garlic breath and not cigarette breath, he once asked, rhetorically, during one of his talkative moments where he ranted about everything and the elder just listened to him, fascinated by his thoughts, his knowledge. By him. _

_ Fabrizio got off the ledge outside the stock room of the shop where they worked. He blew the smoke out on Ermal's face on purpose, getting closer and whispering in his ear: "Are you talking about kissing? Cause I wouldn't mind either...". _

_ He laughed at Ermal's reaction of disgust, waving off the smoke and pushing him away, along with the thought that he wouldn't mind either. _

"Yes Sir..." the elder smirks, handing him a cigarette and leaning towards him with an expensive-looking lighter, lighting his own smoke too.

_ Is it warmer because of the flame or because of something else? _

"You know, I can't remember a time I saw Curreri somewhere other than his strip club. Oh, right, I once saw him 10 meters outside, bragging that huge gold chain".

Ermal reminisces, attuning himself to the elder.

"So what happened? Did he take his girls somewhere else or do people now prefer alcohol to women?"

Fabrizio gulps down the first glass. "Those girls had become slaves, and Gaetano had become a problem..._ things _ just had to change".

He speaks in a low voice, but his look is determined. 

_ After being almost shot by a rival gang, Curreri became paranoid. He convinced himself that someone had betrayed him and he punished the possible traitors, taking their money, or their people, as compensation. _

_ Fabrizio had helped Ermal's brother quit and disappear; back then he boss had been magnanimous, but this time he took his sister as one of his girls. _

_ Only then he was betrayed, as Fabrizio ganged up with his rivals to overthrow him and take his place. _

_ Even if it meant being an accomplice to the older man's murder. _

_ He turned the strip club to a pub then, forbidding his men from exploding and from involving people who had nothing to do with them, and allowing his rivals to keep on with their traffic but only outside his territory. _

_ A bold, arrogant move that, having Fabrizio proved how smart and dangerous he could be, was respected anyway. _

_ At least, for a few years. _

"And how are _ things _ doing these days?"

Ermal asks, taking the glass and smelling the liquor -vodka, it seems- then putting it back. 

"Everything is ok, Mr Officer," Fabrizio replies, taking that glass in his hand, "Of course scuffles happen in every family...but you know this already, don't you?”

Always observant Fabrizio, just like Ermal. He needed to be aware of his surroundings in order to survive.

_ He understood the detective's deductions, and at the same time he hinted at their past, at Ermal's brother and the problems he had caused. _

* * *

There is something about this place that despite its simple but cosy decorations, the posters on the walls and the wooden table, the darts and the instruments in a corner, seems off.

A morbid vibe, something that Ermal can’t explain, or shake off.

Maybe it's the light, a little too dim and dark for this time of the afternoon, making everything seem less real and more like a dream. Or a nightmare. 

_ Or a fantasy. A forbidden, secret one. _

Fabrizio drinks the vodka slowly, his eyes half-closed as he asks Ermal about him and his family, raising the glass to congratulate for his promotion, and pointing out that it might bring bad luck to not participate to the toast.

“You know, if you want to make me a promotion gift, there is something I need…" Ermal interrupts him.

"I actually came into this pub to propose its owner a deal”.

Fabrizio raises an eyebrow.

“The owner of this pub refuses any deal”.

Fabrizio states firmly, before adopting a mocking tone.

“I’m offended...being treated in such an impersonal way by childhood _ friend _...”

He stresses the word friend, and reverts to serious.

“Besides, I’m not a spy...you should remember”.

_ They were being exploited and underpaid in the local drugstore, whose owner was as old as the building. _

_ Ermal was his favourite because he worked well and never complained, unlike the others, especially Fabrizio, who slacked off more often than not. _

_ Said owner had a box where he kept the money he made with his loan shark little side business; it was everyone's dream to get their hands on it, but no one was allowed in the shop's office room. Except for Ermal. _

_ No one would have thought that Ermal would get his hands on it, or part of it, as he took only the amount needed for that month's bills, as the temperatures had been colder and they had needed more heating. _

_ When the old man noticed the missing money he accused Fabrizio, who had never respected him. So he fired him and threatened to call the cops -or worse, they all knew the neighborhood wasn't ruled by the police- if he dared enter his shop again. _

_ Fabrizio spat on his face, something he had wanted to do since forever. _

_ At home Ermal couldn't touch any food, feeling so guilty that his best friend, who had actually found him that job, was accused of something that he had done, and was fired because of him. _

_ Later that evening Fabrizio came to his house with a heater; the same in their boss’ office. That asshole deserved to have everything stolen from his shop, he said. _

_ From his look Ermal understood that he knew everything and that he didn’t blame him. _

_ As they walked outside he grabbed the elder's elbow and whispered 'sorry'. _

_ Fabrizio ruffled his hair like he always did, jokingly comforting him because he would surely miss his lazy ass at work, and reassuring him that he would still be around. Where else could he go, after all, and why, if his little brother was here? He said, hugging said little brother and stroking his back. _

_ "Don't change..." He whispered, or maybe the younger imagined it, as distracted as he was in the other's protective arms, the only place where he felt that he could afford to be vulnerable, although for just s few moments. _

* * *

“I do remember...” 

Ermal’s voice is weighed down by memories, suddenly resurfacing after so much time and effort.

_ Now he has a good job, a beautiful house, a longtime girlfriend, a stable life for his family. There's no need to go back to when he was a poor immigrant trying to survive in this hellish place. _

_ Even though... _

“Hey what’s with that gloomy vibe? Come on, we had fun too…”

_ Even though… _

_ Fabrizio didn’t delete the past, and not only because he never left the district. _

_ For him good or bad didn’t matter, it was part of his very soul. Besides, those days weren’t heavy for him; he was happy to protect his younger friend was a pleasure, and he was proud to give safety and serenity to him but also to his family, whose members were all fond of him. _

_ That evening Ermal’s mother prepared him something to eat and while her sons were in the living room placing the heater, she thanked him for looking after her elder. She explained that he acted tough for them, to replace a father who just caused them pain, and she added that his siblings were luckier than him, because they had someone to look up to and count on. Fabrizio said that he was no role model but he promised her that he would always be there for his son, like a blood older brother, and he told her to look well inside the heater. _

_ Only a couple of days later Ermal was able to control his emotions and thank the elder, who belittled his gesture saying that it was just his revenge on the old bastard, joking he had always been a 'go big or go home' type. _

Ermal didn’t notice when Fabrizio got out of the counter, and it took a great amount of self control to not flinch when he felt the other behind him, his arm encircling his shoulder.

_ Or to revel in his touch, like in the past, before they took opposite paths. _

"Is it ok for you to be seen with a detective?" He asks just to divert the attention _ -the other's or his own it doesn't matter. _

"_ I _ only care about what _ I _ see: my childhood _ friend _ waving his shiny police badge, threatening my customers, speaking to me so seriously about deals and offers…"

Fabrizio tightens his grip on the younger's shoulder, just a little, to be sure to have his whole attention. As if he wasn't completely mesmerized by the elder's husky voice and his tone, mocking yet not offensive. 

"...As if he thinks he has some right to order me around".

The detective tenses slightly, as he mustn't forget that the one behind him is the leader of a gang, who won't be intimidated easily.

"...As if he remembers that I can't refuse him _ anything _..."

_ Back then he let Ermal kiss him, explore his mouth completely, despite the pain in his lip and in his heart, knowing that it would be the first and last time, regretting to not have acted sooner, fearing to not be reciprocated by the younger and just learning to be content with being friends, and to occasionally see the shocked and flustered look in his eyes when he came too close or made an obscene joke. _

Ermal feels the other’s warm breath as he whispers in his ear.

"Let me take you to a more appropriate place for business then..."

* * *

The detective is guided behind the counter, beyond the kitchen, inside Fabrizio's office, so he calls a big room at almost underground level, with brick walls and metal ventilation pipes all over the ceiling. There's a big wooden desk with a leather armchair for him, and two similar yet smaller ones at the other side.

_ He doesn't let many enter this space, where he makes them almost comfortable, always reminding them who's in charge. _

Up on the wall there is a church-like stained glass tile representing a cross. Behind the desk there is another, bigger one, decorated with ethnic flowers; beyond the desk, a dark veiled curtain blurs the surface of a bed, a nightstand, a small closet, another armchair, and a guitar resting on it. 

_ The bed is unmade, with pillows haphazardly thrown everywhere on the black sheets and cover. On the nightstand there are random things, showing that he lives in this windowless open space, not as small to be claustrophobic but not suited for actual living. He probably only intended to stay here as a temporary solution, to keep a better eye on his business, or after a breakup. _

_ There's a guitar on the armchair; it brings back memories, of when they played it together, when Fabrizio joked that he liked the same old Italian music as his mother, and he made fun of the other's passion for hard rock in English although he didn't understand a single thing and his pronunciation was horrible. _

"Come..." Fabrizio gestures Ermal towards the desk, as he slumps on his armchair.

"Come closer, I don't bite," he points at the seat Ermal is supposed to take, "...Unless I'm asked to..." he adds with a smirk.

_ Despite a shyness that showed in the way he closed his eyes or covered his mouth when he laughed or received compliments, Fabrizio liked to make dirty jokes, not just to mix with the others, but also because Ermal liked to hear them, as no one said such things in his house. _

_ Sometimes the jokes were directed to him, as the elder pretended to flirt with him, laughing at his embarrassment and at his playfully disgusted rejections. _

_ If only he had known that his friend was joking but not pretending. _

_ If only his friend had understood earlier that he was only pretending to be disgusted. _

"You don’t believe in 'never mix work and pleasure' huh?"

Ermal points out. The other chuckles lightly.

"I don't believe in separating them….Or anything else. Everything is mixed up anyway: work and pleasure, duty and love, regret and denial, family and desires..."

Fabrizio's husky voice and the words he says have a deep effect on Ermal's mind, heart and body. But he's good at not showing it. He’s a good detective and it’s not the first time he deals with _ this kind of people _, who use his personal life to confuse others and take advantage of the situation.

_ Too bad that this person used to be his best friend, his big brother, the first and only male he felt attraction for, the first person he loved, the only person he trusted for a long time, and he must remind himself that it's just an act to confuse him now that they’re on opposite sides, otherwise he'll end up believing Fabrizio's big brown eyes and their distracted but at the same time very focused expression. _

So makes himself comfortable on the armchair, resting his arms on the armrests, confident that in order to be convincing he needs to act only at first, because later the act will become so natural that he will convince himself too.

"Perspectives I guess...I have my own idea on life," he says, in a deliberately absent-minded manner, more focused on the stained glass tile with flowers, that is actually a cabinet, he realizes, when Fabrizio opens its two symmetrical doors, taking a bottle among the many contained there.

It looks expensive, definitely not the kind of stuff served to customers in a peripheral district pub. 

"You gotta try this," he starts, but Ermal interrupts him, reminding him that he's on duty. 

"I'm on duty too, my friend...and this is how I do business", he replies, putting two glasses and cigarettes on the table, but only pouring the liquor in one.

Ermal helps himself with the cigarette.

"That guy wasn’t shot in a robbery. It was a settling of scores. In your territory. So you must know who’s behind it".

"My only territory is this pub, and 1 meter outside its door. I should put a few benches there by the way..."

Fabrizio comments, clearly making fun of the other with his musings.

"Whatever," Ermal interrupts him, not angrily but assertively.

"The echo of these...how did you call them? Family scuffles...get outside the neighbourhood, to the center where journalist and politicians get outraged and pester police chiefs, demanding order."

Impassively, Fabrizio sips his drink.

"My boss is one of those chiefs. He can’t wait to be on tv after busting criminals and their stashes, and you know that everyone likes to see traffickers arrested. It gives them the idea that order is finally established…And I’m not gonna lie, I want order, or I wouldn’t have chosen this job...But I remember how things work here. How that kind of order doesn't stand a chance again _ this _ kind of order".

With an eloquent look around him Ermal finishes talking. Fabrizio gets up and closes the distance between them, taking a cigarette and lighting it then leaning on the desk instead of getting back to his place.

"Big shots demanding order from their pretty clean lofts have always existed...and yet the center is more connected to these faraway lands than you think…or maybe you forgot the cops periodically searching for Gaetano’s stash and how it ended every time..."

_ Having a cop in his payroll, Curreri knew when police operations would happen. He always let them arrest someone though, so they’d have an illusion of power, not realizing that he chose the one to send to prison beforehand, that he would grant him and his family some money, and that he would keep his own order in his own district. _

_ Fabrizio too did time in jail this way. _

_ It was after Ermal left; the sun shone less bright without him, thus looking at it through prison bars didn't seem too much of a sacrifice. Besides, it was for less than a year, during which his family was financially supported, while he gained good money upon his release, becoming closer to the leader. Until he became paranoid and turned the tables. _

"I thought Gaetano was the past, but maybe I misunderstood and you're not the leader here..."

Ermal speaks with a mocking tone too, attuning himself to the other once more.

"Leader? Maybe you misunderstood, yeah," Fabrizio continues, unfazed, "I'm just the owner of this pub...”

The detective raises an eyebrow hearing the other’s words.

“Come on Fabri, you can convince a newbie, not _ me _…”

_ Not the one who spent all his free time with him, observing him, memorizing every detail of his face, voice and movements until he just needed to close his eyes to hear him, to feel him even, before he realized that he had to kill him in his mind and heart in order to move on and live his life. _

“It's obvious that you don’t just sell cocktails here...”

“Of course not,” Fabri replies promptly, “We also have live shows. You should come sometimes”.

His patience thinner, Ermal suddenly stands up and gets very close to Fabrizio.

“I’m not a newbie, Bizio. You took over Curreri. Curreri trafficked with prostitutes and drugs. According to police reports this district is no longer relevant for prostitution, but for drugs it's a different story".

The elder doesn’t budge.

"Nice movie, I'd like to watch it. Together maybe. Just the two of us..."

He looks at Ermal licking his lips. The detective pretends that nothing is happening.

"And your pupils are dilated...you are high on something.”

Fabrizio gets even closer.

“What if my pupils are dilated because I want you...”

He brushes the younger’s chest with his fingers. This time for Ermal it’s hard to control himself; he takes a deep breath and looks elsewhere before returning to the other's smoldering eyes.

“Nice try...But I'll stick to reports. You might keep your men away from schools and you might not put innocent ones in danger but it doesn't change the main fact: this district is a drug marketplace. And drugs mean violent crimes, like the one I'm here for. The one you know nothing about”. 

The more he speaks the more confident the detective feels.

“I wonder what would your men do if I arrested them, and claimed that you betrayed them and sold them to the police, without granting them or their families any protection. It would be understandable if they all ganged up against you then...”

_ A merciless threat against someone who always protected him, but to be convincing he needs to act only at first, because later the act will become so natural that he will convince himself too. _

_ Maybe. _

Fabrizio leans back on his desk, his sensual look turning serious. 

“You cops sure did a good job...too bad you’ve never been here when people needed you...”

_ There were no cops when Curreri was attacked in plain daylight, when a mother, who happened to be walking with her child, was shot in his place. _ _  
_ _ There were no cops when, convinced that Fabrizio had conspired with the rival gang against him, he took his sister as a punishment. _

_ There were no cops when he slashed her face with a broken bottle. _

_ There were no cops when he was shot, in the nighttime but not in secret, to show that the mad king was being overthrown. _

Ermal ignores his comment, well knowing that he’s right.

_ There were no cops when he was cold, tired and hungry, selling newspapers at the crossroad. _

_ There were no cops when the boss exploiting him and others was loaning money to desperate people. _

_ There were no cops when he was escaping with his family, only helped by his friend getting into fights just to buy them time. _

“Knowing you I presume that violent crimes happen because someone else tries to take this marketplace. Some gang from southern districts probably, they were always trying to get here as far as I remember.”

He resumes talking, carefully choosing the memories he needs for his job, nothing more, nothing less.

_ Not the cut on Fabrizio’s cheek after a gang fight, when Ermal scolded him for getting involved in these pointless things, and the elder jokingly replied: “But it’s my job”. _

_ The younger stopped medicating him. _

_ It was his fault: if he hadn’t stolen those money his friend wouldn’t have been fired and he wouldn’t have gotten so deep into the gang’s black hole...His thoughts could be read on his face though, so much that the other reminded him that he was already committed to Curreri’s gang, as a good for nothing who dropped out of high school had no other opportunity, unlike him. _

_ “The only thing I miss about that bastard’s damn drugstore is you,” he added, ruffling his hair. And heart. _

“You let them deal with their prostitutes, you ignored their own drug dealing business because it’s on a smaller scale, but now they want more. They want here and they don't care about other people's safety. In this perspective, for the Police you are the lesser evil”.

“Oh thank you, Mr Officer,” Fabrizio replies, raising his tilting his head on the side but smirking, mocking the words of the other, who ignores his comment.

“So I'll repeat my offer: give me information, on this murder _ and anything else _, and I’ll close an eye on your business. Whatever you want me to think it is”.

“Like I said, I refuse”.

Fabrizio reiterates, his face coming closer to Ermal's, whose patience is practically over. Nevertheless he knows how to deal with _ these people _, he tells himself, turning around to leave.

"Wait," the other's husky but firm voice reaches his back, "Don't you wanna hear my offer?"

* * *

Only when the detective is back in his place -maybe a little closer, to intimidate him- Fabrizio speaks.

“_ I _ will tell you things _ I _ will find interesting for your investigation, _ and anything else _ , and _ I _ will do it in the way _ I _see fit...you know, I have people depending on me. And..."

He lights his cigarette and inhales it once.

"...You guys won’t touch my business...my pub with live shows, I mean...” 

His smirk means the opposite. 

Suddenly, in Ermal's mind, the stained glass cross on the wall reveals its real function: a wall safe where he keeps drugs and money.

_ He was always the type to hide things in plain sight. He did the same with his feelings. _

After a long silence of deep pondering, although merely for the sake of his role -never show weakness or eagerness in front of a criminal- Ermal nods.

_ Despite his composure, despite the satisfaction for his accomplishment, and the mental tiredness because it involves his childhood friend, his older brother, the first and only male he felt attracted to, Ermal feels like he just got off from a rollercoaster. _

They shake hands to sign the deal. 

No written document, no record, as real men do in that district. Besides, they don't need them: they'll understand if one is a traitor, because they know each other.

But doesn't time change people? The detective considers saying, before Fabrizio pulls him closer by his hand, so close that their breaths are mingling.

“One more thing, Ermal," he whispers, his lips almost brushing the other's, "I will _ only _ speak to _ you _”.

_ Maybe he hasn't gotten off from the rollercoaster yet, as hearing the elder pronounce his name feels like a further descent without brakes. _

Ermal balances himself with the other arm on the desk, trapping Fabrizio between him and the table. 

“So...I can’t wait to see a good live show”.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo although this is a fictional story that has nothing to do with reality, it's inspired by reality and the real artists. More specifically, by MY perception of them.  
I think a lot about characterization and dynamics, of course I write what I would like to read, but I put a lot of thought into the 'why' characters and dynamics are like this in a particular setting. When I write I keep in mind who the characters are, their background and what motivates them. And for my AUs I make characters fit in the new setting, but at the same time I analise 'what ifs', changing the different setting/universe, as well as one or two basic things and 'following' the consequences.  
Of course there are many different details in every fic, this included, that makes the AU, but the biggest differences are something else, and I don't just speak of music not being the most important thing for them.
> 
> In this specific AU, for example, Fab had Ermal to protect since a younger age he so was never hypochondriac (while in reality he got out of it when his son was born)...so he didn't stop doing drugs (in reality he did, being afraid to die, more or less of course, it's my perception lol) and things escalated in the way you just read. 
> 
> As for their personalities and behavior in this chapter, Fab's attitude alternates between nostalgic and sarcastic, as he's sincerely happy to see Ermal, and he never forgot about him and his feelings for him, but he's also a gang leader/drug dealer and he has a position to keep. He's defiant to authority.  
He'd actually be different with others (but you'll see) but with Ermal he's less guarded. Because he's Ermal. And his flirty behavior...he is a physical person, and in this AU he's also high and is defiant to Ermal as a detective so there you go...But also, he plays with boundaries but he doesn't destroy them, he lets Ermal have the last word, or the last move. Like in reality lol  
And Ermal, I like this Ermal so much, you'll see lol, again, now he's controlled and composed, he's a determined detective who knows how to move in these illegal environments because he was a part of it once, but he pushed away his past for so long that he didn't expect such strong impression, because everything he thought forgotten is now resurfacing.  
For this I was inspired by reality, as when he's around Fab Ermal is less controlled, and the difference is so evident...while for Fab I thought of him being driven around by Luca, and his relaxed attitude.
> 
> Next chapter things will get more heated, and darker. I say it in advance because I don't want to disappoint readers who might expect something different :)
> 
> btw. I was told of a popular fandom author who has a twitter where she insults other authors, thinking that russian is enough of a secret code to shit on other people. Lol nope honey, and it's funny that you passive-aggressively criticize authors who write long explanations thinking that readers are stupid...as for myself I like to explain my creative process and choices because I like it, and because I think that we all are different so a reader doesn't always get where I come from certain choices. That's it. But when you read my fic and didn't understand a single thing about it...well you proved that there is one stupid reader around. So xD


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